The Forgotten Story of Us

I can't remember our early years of marriage without remembering the story. Once, twice, three times a week -- as we lay in bed, his arm wrapped around me, wrapping up another day -- he'd start the story with the same question: Do you remember the day we met?

No answer required. All on his own, my husband unraveled the tale of how we met, his first impression of me, the outfit I wore, and the way the sun shone through the shell of a building we were surveying that day.

As we lived our first year of marriage, the story grew. Telling a little more.

Do you remember our honeymoon at the Opryland with my mother, my father, my sister, my brother-in-law, my grandmother, and my grandfather? And that riverboat with the gold railing everywhere? That was ... an interesting trip.

Do you remember the day we came home and found the envelope of cash in our mailbox and we were able to go buy something for dinner besides tuna and mac and cheese?

On the hard days of being newlyweds, when tempers would collide and bananas would take flight, he would always end the day with the story of us. I'd fall asleep to his voice as he told me the story of our love.

[Read the rest of the article at Start Marriage Right.]